Loredar and Flora

She clung to the ropes slung around the tree trunks like a desperate, drowning woman; her contorted body gouging earthy swathes in the grass as she writhed. Lake Elune’ara lay placid before her, the ancient lake’s calm surface reflecting the terror and pain in her face; her usual solemn and watchful features disfigured into something  horrible and unrecognisable. Her hair hung in a sweaty tangle, the dark strands clinging to her pallid cheeks like spidery blood vessels. She let out yet another muted cry of pain, her throat now hoarse, unable to muster the strength for a full-blown shriek. Her abdomen clenched once more as another powerful contraction took hold, squeezing and twisting the muscles of her lower body, every nerve ending screaming as the mass in her belly forced itself lower. Another gout of blood and mucus stained the sodden grass, her slender thighs slick and crimson.

In the indeterminable pause between contractions, she raised her head weakly, mustering her strength to look down beyond her bruised belly. On seeing the extent of the viscous mess between her legs she let out a hiss of fright, her pale eyes searching her husband’s face. He gazed down at her, his face carefully constructed into a mask of reassurance, the lined corners of his mouth turning up as he continued to murmur soothing platitudes. She whispered entreaties in return, her words coming out tangled and broken as she pleaded with him brokenly to help her, that she couldn’t do it, that she had changed her mind and didn’t want any more children. Too late he replied grimly, the bones in his hand moving as she clenched his fingers with her sweaty, blood-stained deathgrip. Too late.

A contraction stronger than any before twisted her gut and she arced upwards, her hips rising in the air as an animal moan escaped her curled lips. With a wet rush, a slimy mass dropped into her mate’s outstretched hands. It uncoiled, pale and bloody, the slick cord tangled around it’s neck. A moment later the lifegiving cable was severed and he was swabbing the mucous from the infant’s mouth and nose as it let out a bewildered, high-pitched wail. Tears began to pour down the man’s face as he held the tiny, reddened newborn, showing it to his exhausted mate as she slumped back against the grass in momentary peace. It’s a boy. It’s Loredar. My son: he is perfect. She opened her eyes for a moment, a burst vessel turning the left one an angry scarlet, the corner of her mouth tugging upwards as she reached out to touch the infant’s blood-slick head.

The temporary reprieve ended as abruptly as their son had arrived. She let out another howl, her palms scored by friction burn from the clenched rope. Her agonised screams did not seem to bother the new infant, who had been swaddled and tenderly laid on the grass, blinking solemnly with the round, grey eyes of his mother.

She felt something give from deep within her, and knew that she could not continue. As she capitulated under despair, her body took control and wrung the second infant from between her legs, with a horrible tearing sound. She let out another howl of pain as her husband received the second infant into upturned hands. More blood and plasma followed in a gush, unrestricted now by any blockage, and she moaned. Her hands curled over her deflated belly, bruised and sore, as she felt her husband shove something inside to stem the flow. What had been a pulsing and throbbing heaviness had been replaced with an aching, tender hollowness. A second cry, more strident than the first, punctuated her half-drugged haze and she opened a single eye to see her husband holding up a small, angry infant with a spring of curly blue hair. Flora, said her husband with a rarely-heard quaver to his voice, she is also perfect. You are perfect.

She felt far from perfect, she thought to herself grimly, shifting up a fraction on the grass and stifling a cry of pain. The horrible gushing seemed to have abated, but her pelvis felt as if it had been torn out and trampled by a herd of charging elekk. Feeling her husband’s strong arm around her shoulders, helping her to slowly sit upright, she managed to grip an infant in each sweaty arm. A moment later she felt the familiar, tugging sensation at her chest as they began to nurse. Breathing out unsteadily, she closed her eyes once more and rested against his shoulder, taking comfort from his solid presence.

“I want Analith and Mirae.” she insisted after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper. Her mate nodded, stroking the twin heads in turn tenderly, his eyes red. “I’ll send for them tomorrow. Our family will be complete.”

5 Responses so far »

  1. 1

    Aphel said,

    Amazingly written, and the length, wow! You did an amazing job at writing this one, darling. I really enjoy reading this one, and I can’t wait until both of us are parents as well ❤ This moment was truly special for me.

  2. 2

    Sharaan said,

    Jesus D: That was a stressful read.

    • 3

      Leafsong said,

      it was stressful to write!!! If I didn’t want a c-section at the beginning of the post, I did at the end!!!

  3. 4

    Tylandra said,

    I think Lerafsong should lead Might of Staghelm. Yup.

    • 5

      Leafsong said,

      Hehe she would transform it into a crime syndicate, only robbing the richest and most booty-laden Horde settlements.

      “Land? Who needs LAND. I’m interested in gooooold.

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